They Are MillionsIt's amazing, really, how you can spend so much time there, hours underground in transit, neither here nor there. You can sit by someone for an hour or a minute and never see them again, shuffled away in the leaf pile. Even if you take the same route same time you may never see them, certainly not recognize them, unless- no, that must be a different lady with purple-tinged braids.And I realize that this small-town small-school girl has likely never seen so many people in her whole life put together.A family of German tourists, a horde of French schoolchildren, ladies of many nationalities in as many kinds of headwear. The clean-cut City men and women, the inadvisable stilettos. The uniformed children, the men in paint-covered trousers. The ones you immediately hate for reasons inconsequential like they walked too slowly or stood in your way, and the of course the ones you fall in love with for their shoes or delicate mouth but who you could never, now, pick out of a crowd. The babies
Stage ManagerBlack shirt black shoes black pantsYou are not the star.Not everyone wants to be the star.You are a nebula where stars are formedYou are the dust cloud that nobody can see from EarthBut which telescopes discover is stunning.You are dark matter holding the universe togetherConstantly invisible, exempt from the effects of lightYet changing the orbital paths of galaxies.